


Introspection

by katling



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Introspection, Little bit of angst, M/M, more than a bit of fluff, thinking deep thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 01:18:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8183345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katling/pseuds/katling
Summary: In the wake of a nightmare, Fenris thinks about what has come before and what there is right now and comes to the conclusion that, as strange as it might seem given whose bed he shares, he is actually happy.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Green_Sphynx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green_Sphynx/gifts).



> This is a treat for Green_Sphynx! I hope you enjoy it.

Fenris sat in the window, looking out over the vista Skyhold afforded. Dawn was just starting to tint the snow on the mountains but he was oblivious to the beauty on display. He’d woken from a nightmare and had yet to be able to shake it. He wasn’t surprised. Some of his nightmares he could dismiss once he was awake and aware but the worst of them lingered and left him feel unsettled and uneasy.

He sighed and shifted on the window sill, looking into the room instead of out to the mountains. If the admittedly magnificent view outside wasn’t going to settle his mind and nerves, maybe the view inside would. The room wasn’t his… or perhaps it was. Perhaps it was theirs. He’d once had another room in Skyhold but it had long since been reassigned to someone else. He didn’t miss it. That room had been bare and austere. His meagre possessions hadn’t been enough to make it feel welcoming. This room was utterly different and the thought made the edges of his lips curl slightly.

This room was, on the surface, a sybarite’s paradise. It was lush, it was warm, it was welcoming. The curtains were heavy velvet, the floor was layered with carpets and the bed was covered in silk sheets and warm coverlets. But that was only the surface. A closer look revealed the discordant notes – the lack of uniformity that one might expect in all the lush fabrics in the room. They were harmonious, to be sure, but they weren’t of a piece. They were piecemeal. Taken from here and there but somehow they all worked. And underneath the apparent luxury, there were books and papers strewn everywhere along with a weapon and armour rack on one wall. The luxury almost hid the fact that this was a scholar’s room where a warrior also lived.

Then there was the man sprawled face down on the bed, looking for all the world like a satisfied cat at rest. Fenris let his gaze rest on the man and he shook his head. Of all the people he’d thought he might end up with when he agreed to join the Inquisition, this man had been far distant at the bottom of the list.

He should have hated Dorian Pavus. He had at first, truth be told. He’d scorned him and sneered at him, thought him little more than a pampered fool of a mage. He’d looked at him and seen Danarius, seen Danarius’ cronies, and refused to look any harder. He’d been comfortable in his hatred.

Then the Inquisitor had sent the two of them, along with Krem, to scout out a Venatori stronghold. It had been… tense at first. He and Krem got along relatively well but while they hadn’t deliberately excluded Dorian, they’d had far more in common with each other, despite everything, than with the mage. That had led to a certain amount of separation, which in turn had led to Dorian being captured.

He’d sent Krem back to the nearest Inquisition camp for help and had infiltrated the Venatori stronghold by himself. A change of clothes and some strategically placed dirt to hide his markings and he’d blended in with the slaves the Venatori had brought with them from the north. Finding Dorian hadn’t been difficult. Rescuing him had been far more exciting and they’d both learned some lessons in trust and not judging by appearances.

Once they’d returned to Skyhold, they’d edged from wary acquaintances to colleagues to friends and then, after a memorable evening celebrating the Inquisitor’s first dragon kill, to lovers. Fenris had _almost_ run when he’d woken up the next morning and discovered where he was and who he was with. He would have but he’d woken up because Dorian had been in the grips of a nightmare of his own and by the time he’d dragged the reason for it out of the man, well, he’d had a lap full of weary, despairing mage and new hatred for Magisters that had nothing to do with anything that had been done to _him_ for once.

Not that things had been easy. Fenris’ past was ever present, lurking in the back of his mind waiting to ambush him at unexpected moments, and Dorian could, as he’d admitted more than once, be an ass but for all they had waxed and waned and argued and fought, they’d somehow come through it stronger each times and Fenris would be willing to admit that he was… happy.

“As much as I would always claim to be worth looking at, your gaze is exceptionally weighty this morning.”

Fenris gave a start at the muttered comment and blinked, focusing on Dorian properly. The mage’s eyes were barely open, mere slits against what he would undoubtedly call a shockingly early hour, and he was looking at Fenris sleepily.

“Nightmare,” Fenris grumped.

Dorian shifted and forced himself to wake up a little more. The sheets and coverlets had slipped down to his waist and Fenris idly admired the warm, brown skin on display.

“About _him_ ,” Dorian said. It wasn’t a question. Only nightmares about Danarius would drive Fenris away from him. Any other kind would have Fenris curling closer.

Fenris nodded stiffly anyway and scrubbed his face with both hands.

“It’s been a long time since the last one,” Dorian observed. He eyed Fenris shrewdly. “Erimond?”

“Probably,” 

Fenris slid off the windowsill and discarded the shirt he’d put on. He slid back into the bed and let Dorian pull him close.

“Kaffas! You’re freezing.” 

Despite his complaint, Dorian pulled the coverlets around them, pressing every bit of skin against Fenris as he could. Fenris nuzzled his cold nose against Dorian’s neck and chuckled at the yelp that got him. The nightmare finally began to slip away and he pressed his lips against Dorian’s warm skin. Dorian shifted and captured his mouth in a slow, lazy kiss and Fenris hummed his approval.

They lay there on the bed, trading kisses as Fenris warmed up again. The last threads of the nightmare floated away and Fenris sighed. The ease with which the nightmares slipped away these days was a relief and he often suspected it was because Dorian never pushed. He didn’t need to. He knew what Tevinter and its Magisters were like, he knew what had happened to Fenris. He didn’t need to rehash everything in order to understand.

“It is far too early to be awake,” Dorian murmured against Fenris’ lips. “Why are we awake?”

Fenris smiled, something he did far more often these days, and pushed Dorian onto his back. The mage went willingly, soft and pliant in his lassitude, smiling at Fenris with undisguised adoration. Fenris slid on top of him and Dorian’s hands ran down his back to cup his arse.

“This is nice,” Dorian said a little dopily.

“Yes, it is,” Fenris replied as he rolled his hips down.

Dorian moaned his name and undulated under him, his hands tightening briefly. Fenris chuckled and cast aside the mood the nightmare had brought in its wake. Whatever he had once been, whatever Dorian had once been, it didn’t matter. This was what mattered and he intended to make the most of it.


End file.
